


As if he were the Sun

by ohfreckle



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Anal Sex, Fingerfucking, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Politics, Scheming, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-01-12 14:40:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1188918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohfreckle/pseuds/ohfreckle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thor is a Russian nobleman and Loki is his spoiled rotten consort who’s drenched in jewels and furs and is constantly whispering conspiracies and scandal into Thor’s ear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Ohdinson's [brillant prompt](http://ohdinson.tumblr.com/post/71331278673/thorloki-want-more-thorki-russian-noble-au) on tumblr. 
> 
> It's set in the late 19th century, more specifically in 1897. 
> 
> Revolution isn't yet in the air, but neither the freed peasants nor the nobility are happy with Nicholas II. He's widely considered weak, and there's a small liberal and radical minority forming among the nobility that plans to challenge the political system.  
> Russia didn't have a middle class in that time and nobility made up only a very small part of the population. Cultural westernization had been going on or centuries, since Peter the Great, and while Nicholas and his father were more conservative it was a progress that couldn't be reversed. Rich people in Russia during that dressed in the latest fashion from London and Paris, while the traditional garb of kaftans and such was still widely worn in the country.
> 
>    
> More parties and scheming to come in the following chapters, and-of course-more fur.

“I'm merely telling you that you should not rely on Nicholas to make any significant changes in the future.” 

As heartfelt as his words are, Thor knows they will fall on deaf ears. He sighs and drums his fingers on the table. He’s irritated and restless this evening, the turn of their discussion souring him on his friends’ usual welcome company. 

He lets his eyes sweep the long walls of Volstagg’s den, the stark white barely visible under the colorful tapestries adorning them. Every single one is elaborately crafted, depicting his friend’s ancestors as well as memorable moments in history like the czars of old, never forgotten. 

“And I am telling you that you should have more faith in the Emperor,” Volstagg says, his beard quivering with the force behind it. He is starting to slur his words despite the still early hour, but it does not stop him from taking another deep draught from his glass. 

Volstagg has always been one for tradition, maybe even to a fault. It may well be his downfall if he keeps his mind closed to change and progress, Thor thinks moodily. 

He snorts and downs his own drink. “My dear friend,” he says, “I will never understand how you trust that the one who restricted the distribution of vodka will solve the problems of our economy.” 

He can feel Volstagg’s gaze on him, examining the fine cloth of his top shirt and vest. “Now, it seems you are completely unaffected by this sad affair we call economy,” Volstagg says. It is followed by a belch he does not bother to hide. 

“Maybe that is because my family sold the land when it was still worth more than just a handful of silver rubles.” It’s an old argument Thor has tired of long ago. “How often have I told you that I would gladly aid you to invest in new commercial ventures.” 

“You or that menace you keep at home,” Fandral chuckles, speaking up for the first time since this argument has started. 

It is said in good spirit, so Thor takes no offense at Fandral’s reference to Loki. Truth be told, it is not entirely uncalled for, but for entirely different reasons than Fandral and Volstagg have any business knowing. 

“Say what you want about him, but you have seen how my gains have quickened as of late. Loki’s knowledge of the foreign markets is unsurpassed.” 

“Just one of his many talents, I’m sure,” Fandral says with a sly smile, raising an inquiring brow. 

“You are quite right, my friend. He also has a vast knowledge of international relations and the liaisons at court.” Thor grins wolfishly. “Which has proven to be very useful.” 

And that is all Thor will say about it. His relationship with Loki has been the subject of whispers and gossip at court for years, there is no reason to add fuel to the rumors and false assumptions. Volstagg and Fandral are his friends and they mean well, but they do not truly understand the nature of what binds him to Loki. 

“Since we are speaking of new commercial ventures,” Thor says, refilling his glass. He bends forward and looks meaningfully at his friends, excited to finally tell the news he meant to share all evening before their conversation digressed. 

“I’m planning to buy one of the automobiles Yakovlev showed last month in Nizhny Novgorod. Since the Emperor–behind the times as always– did not show any interest in it, it may very well be the first of its kind in St. Petersburg.” 

***  

As expected, Fandral showed himself suitably impressed while Volstagg inquired what was suddenly wrong with good old horses. 

For now Thor still has to make do with a troika, which takes him home as swiftly as any–as Volstagg had so eloquently put it–hellish machine. 

It has started to snow again. The flakes are swirling in the crisp air, adding another layer of white to the streets of St. Petersburg. 

Any other day Thor would enjoy the sight of the city’s elaborate roofs and the still exciting golden glow of the new electric lamps, but not today. After a long and tedious day of financial talks and his slight discord with Volstagg he feels cold and wary and eager to be home. 

Thor pulls the collar of his cost a little tighter and tells the postillion to go faster. 

His mood lifts considerably as soon as the brightly lit windows of his home come into view. The large house is warm and inviting when Thor steps into the entry hall. 

Their new maid, Katenka, welcomes him with a shy smile and alleviates him of his coat and the many boxes and packages he brought from the city. A deep blush is staining her cheeks and she can’t quite meet his eyes while she arranges everything on a low table with delicate golden legs, hurrying away as soon as Thor dismisses her with a nod and a word of thanks. 

Thor learns just what has the girl so rattled as soon as he opens to the sitting room. 

Loki is in the middle of the room, kneeling amidst of what seem to be small patches of fabric in a myriad shades of red. 

That alone is nothing to fluster any member of their household, for the best tailors and seamstresses of St. Petersburg are regular visitors, but Thor can see how Loki’s attire is more than enough to make the poor girl wring her hands. 

Loki is wearing his favorite robe, the raw silk of it pooling around him in a sea of lush green, the hem and its long flared sleeves trimmed with finest ermine. He has not bothered to belt the robe and Thor can see a nipple peek from between the gaping lapels, pert and rosy, and the bright white of the drawers Loki so favors. 

Warmth spreads in Thor’s belly; not only from the sight of the dark tuft of hair visible between the legs of the delicate garment, but also at the thought of just why Loki prefers these kinds of women’s underthings. 

“You’re late,” Loki greets him from the floor. He doesn’t look up from his examination of the samples of fabric, his mouth pinched in an unhappy frown. “I sent the tailor home an hour ago.” 

“Good evening to you as well, kotyonok,” Thor says, bending to drop a kiss on the dark crown of his head. “Is something wrong? You don’t usually acquire my assistance with your tailor. There are plenty of others if his work isn’t satisfying.” 

Thor is secretly pleased with himself and his crafty suggestion. Loki’s wardrobe is a sensitive matter, both to Loki and to Thor’s accounts, and not to be taken lightly. Finely tailored clothes put a smile on Loki’s lips and Thor loves to see him happy and devilishly handsome dressed in the latest fashion from Paris and London, and so he takes great care to not dismiss Loki’s concerns. 

“Actually he came to discuss your new smoking jacket.” Loki throws his arms wide in a gesture encompassing the wealth of red around him. “Or did you think this was for me?” 

Loki sighs and rises gracefully to his feet. “The man is intolerable. I asked for quilted velvet the shade of a ripe apple. And what did the halfwit bring? Plain silk in burgundy and wine red.” 

Loki sniffs and rolls his eyes. “Silk for a gentleman’s smoking jacket, oh please.” 

Thor doesn’t care at all about smoking jackets, let alone whether they are made of silk or burlap. He has no intention of wearing the cumbersome thing more than once or twice, much as the other three he keeps in the very back of his closet. That should be enough to appease Loki and assure him his efforts are appreciated, before Thor can go back to wear his comfortable old robe or, as he often prefers, nothing at all. 

Loki pours two glasses of vodka from one of the many delicate decanters arranged haphazardly on a small inlaid table and offers one to Thor. He accepts gratefully, catching a whiff of berry before he downs the drink; one of Loki’s favorites, deceptively sweet but no less potent than the clear vodka Thor prefers himself. Very much like the kiss Loki presses to Thor’s lips, sweet and sharp, his own way of letting Thor know that he is already forgiven. 

Thor has long since learned to accept Loki’s moods, so he does not bother to ask what exactly he is forgiven for. 

“So, what did keep you out so long,” Loki asks. He pushes Thor to sit on the heavy sofa, the green silk damask of it almost matching the color of his robe, its sturdy arms flanked with finely detailed golden wolf heads. 

Thor goes easily and sinks into the plush cushions, glad for the comfort of his own home. Loki is warm and pliant against his side and all is right again in Thor’s world, his earlier sour mood forgotten. 

He tells Loki of his evening with Volstagg and Fandral and how he worries that Volstagg’s stubbornness and blind faith in the Emperor will eventually lead to his ruin. 

“You could always buy parts of his lands, enough to keep him from falling into debt for a while,” Loki shrugs, brushing a kiss to Thor’s cheek. “Pay him a little more than the market price, just enough not to hurt his pride and make it seem like alms.” Loki hums thoughtfully, walking his fingers over the small buttons of Thor’s top shirt. “He will sell it to you, I’m sure of it, and it’s a perfect opportunity for you to expand your position as one of the city’s biggest landowners.” 

“Loki, there are times when I can’t fathom how I deserve you and your brilliant mind,” Thor laughs, amazed at what Loki just proposed. The thought would have never occurred to him, but laid out like this it sounds like a brilliant plan. It might take some time to persuade Volstagg to see the merits of it, but Thor is willing to at least try. He is all the more grateful for Loki to suggest it, because he knows how little love there is lost between the two of them. 

“Maybe that’s because you do not deserve me at all,” Loki says. His smile is sharp enough to scare a lesser man, but Thor simply kisses him, licks deeply into his mouth until Loki relents and huffs a laugh into the kiss, showing Thor just how worthy he is. 

Loki’s skin is warm and soft under Thor’s fingers when he strokes a hand inside his robe. For long minutes Loki lets himself be stroked and petted, encouraging Thor with little moans and kisses. 

“I met the Countess Freyja today,” Loki whispers into Thor’s ear. 

Such simple words and yet enough to immediately cool Thor’s sparking ardor. Thor tenses despite the tempting arch of Loki’s back under his fingertips. He bares no ill will against the woman, but the mere thought of her husband Odr makes his blood boil with barely suppressed anger. 

Odr’s scheming is the reason the Emperor’s troika is no longer drawn by the fine breed of Thor’s stables. Thor cares little about the rubles that were lost to him–after all his stallions are highly sought across the country–but he does not take kindly to losing against a competitor. 

“I don’t think she was happy to see me,” Loki tells him. He moves to straddle Thor’s lap, winding his arms around Thor’s neck. “I saw her leave the house of that dashing young man who was introduced to us at the skating rink last month–Freyr, I think, surely you remember his splendid red curls–and I swear by all that is holy that her hair was in complete disarray and her petticoats were showing under her skirts.” Loki looks at Thor from beneath half-lidded eyes and licks his lips, as if already tasting victory. “That young man seems to be quite– engaging.” 

Thor can’t help but bark a laugh at the positively wicked shine in Loki’s eyes. He already knows Loki will think of a dozen ways to spin this delicate tidbit to his advantage. 

For all that he loves Loki, Thor should probably stop him. 

As entertaining as Loki’s schemings are to those unaffected, it has made for some bitter enemies who are eagerly awaiting an opportunity for revenge. So far nobody has challenged them; afraid of Thor’s ever increasing wealth and the puissance that comes with it, allowing him to live openly with Loki at his side. 

As always, Thor does no such thing. 

“What is your plan, then? Tell Odr that his beloved wife is a loose woman, an adulteress?” 

“How very dull of you,” Loki sighs. His boredom is belied by his eyes, lingering on the skin that is revealed where he is unbuttoning Thor’s shirt. “What would be the benefit of that? He would chase her out in shame and nothing more would come of it. Heaven forbid, he might even be secretly grateful. No, I will tell _her_ ,” Loki smiles, “because as a women she can’t risk to be shamed and ruined. Trust me, Thor, this will work splendidly in our favor.” 

Thor doesn’t see how it will, but he does trust Loki. “If you say so, I am sure it will.” 

“I think for now we should visit the ice rink more often,” Loki muses. “I think I will be able to coax some secrets from our young man.” 

Thor winces inwardly. He can think of so many ways he would rather spend his time: hunting with Volstagg, carousing with Fandral, to name but a few. But he is far too distracted by the robe slowly slipping from Loki’s shoulder, revealing pale and perfect skin, to put up any protest. 

“Oh, stop scowling,” Loki says, smoothing cool fingers over the creases in Thor’s forehead. “Your purse is safe. I assure you my wardrobe is perfectly acceptable for that purpose. I think the Mahogany mink will do just fine.” 

Loki may even be sincere with it, but Thor doesn’t miss the hint of longing in his voice. 

Thor thinks of the large box in the hallway that he meant to keep from Loki until his birthday. He may as well give it to him now, not only as another token of his affection–even if Loki has already two rooms full of those–but also as a sign that he fully supports Loki’s plan to get the better of Odr. Along with that Loki also has provided excellent advice on how to help his friend. Surely that alone is deserving of a reward. Even if it will be near impossible to find a more formidable birthday gift than the one waiting just outside the door. 

“Would you not rather have something new to show off at the rink?” Thor asks, his lips quirking up. “Something so outrageous people will talk about it for days?” He cups a hand around Loki’s jaw and strokes his thumb over Loki’s smooth cheek. “What do you think about silver sable?” 

“Oh,” Loki breathes reverently, and from the sheer joy in that single sound Thor knows that Loki truly didn’t mean to ask for a new coat. It makes gifting him even more of a joy and Thor’s heart beats a little faster with anticipation to see Loki’s reaction when he opens the box. 

“When can we go to the furrier?” Loki demands. He is wringing his hands with obvious excitement and Thor regards him with fond exasperation, because he is without a doubt ready to leave, regardless of his dishabille and the late hour, if Thor would only tell him to go right now. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind Thor knows he shouldn’t find it so terribly winsome. He firmly tells that part to be still already and plants a gentle kiss on Loki’s lips. “Go get the large blue box from the hallway.” 

For a moment Loki’s mouth forms a perfectly rounded _o_ of surprise before it stretches into a brilliant smile. Loki slides from Thor’s lap in a swirl of green silk and ermine, rushing back into the room just moments later, the blue box clutched tightly in his hands. 

Loki kneels down on the floor, and Thor holds his breath while he watches him folding back the protective layers of cloth. 

He need not have worried. Loki’s eyes grow large and round and the blush of excitement rising high on his cheeks is more than reward enough for the small fortune Thor counted into the furrier’s hands, already for the second time this year. 

That and the rare fortune to see Loki speechless. 

Loki’s hands flutter over the silver-brown mount of fur, his fingers flexing as if he can’t decide if he really is allowed to touch, before he finally plunges them into the thick softness, no longer able to resist. He brings the thick folds up to his face and Thor watches with fond amusement as Loki rubs his face into the silky wealth with a happy sigh. 

“Thor, how can I even thank you for this? It’s truly magnificent,” Loki says, his voice trembling with open excitement. The smile that never left his face turns sharp, almost feral. “Oh, I can just imagine the whispers at the rink; hissing and judging and wishing they could take my place.” 

Loki shuffles forward on his knees until he can part Thor’s legs and slip between them to tug on his hair, ever mindful of the precious bundle in his lap. Thor lets himself be pulled down and meets Loki half-way, returning Loki’s kiss with equal fervor. 

“Still, you are completely mad,” Loki says when they part for air, nipping Thor’s lips teasingly. Thor can’t take his eyes from the graceful arch of his neck where he stretches up to meet him, impatient to leave his mark there before the night is over. “People will think that I’m staying with you only because you keep me wrapped in outrageously costly fur.” 

“And wouldn’t there be more than just a hint of truth in it?” Thor chuckles. He cups Loki’s chin, pressing his thumb against Loki’s lower lip briefly before slipping it inside his mouth to silence that wicked tongue. “Do you deny that you love your clothes and finery, your precious cloaks and fur? Sometimes even I think it might be possible you love me just for my wealth.” 

Loki sucks hard on Thor’s thumb with a noncommittal hum that could be either assent or playful outrage. But he doesn’t try to hide the heat in his eyes, and Thor knows that nothing could be farther from the truth. 

Loki is spoiled to a fault, but while Thor knows he can blame nobody but himself for it, he has no regrets. It is Thor’s greatest pleasure to pamper Loki and read his every wish. There are many reasons for it, but the one that matters most to Thor is that he _knows_ , without the shadow of a doubt, that Loki’s affections are as steadfast as his own. 

Loki pulls back, letting Thor’s thumb slip free with a lingering lick. “Why would I deny it,” he says, huffing a little at Thor’s question. “Only the dull and idle make do with anything but the best.” Loki strokes over the sable in his lap lovingly and looks up at Thor, a coquettish smile curling his lips. “And I do look fabulous in fur.” 

Thor can’t help it, he throws his head back and roars with laughter, used to Loki’s peculiar kind of honesty. It quickly turns into a gasp as Loki bends and lays his cheek against the placket of Thor’s trousers, rubbing back and forth over Thor’s cock with a thoughtful hum. “Why, Your High Nobility, maybe your money is not all I love you for.” 

Thor has been pleasantly aroused until now, little more than a lazy curl of warmth in his belly, but now, with Loki breathing hotly against him, his cock is filling rapidly. He threads a hand in Loki’s hair and shifts his legs wider, making space for Loki and keeping him close. 

“Is that so,” Thor rasps, his thighs and stomach tense with arousal. Loki looks like sin between his legs, with his dark lashes fanning against his flushed cheeks, seemingly utterly content to sit with his face nestled against Thor’s cock. 

Thor shifts Loki’s head with a gentle tug on his hair, ignoring his displeased whine, and unfastens his trousers with his free hand, baring his cock with a sigh of relief. He’s already wet at the tip, leaving a slick trail on Loki’s skin when he taps his cock against his cheek. “Get on with it then.” 

Much to Thor’s relief, Loki does not seem to be in the mood to tease. He obediently shifts on his knees for a better angle and then his mouth is wet and hot around Thor’s cock, his lips tightening just behind the crown. He sucks hard, once, twice, before he pulls back with an obscene wet sound, and Thor is unable to hold back a grunt of dismay at the loss. 

Loki pushes to his feet with a silvery laugh, his hair slipping through Thor’s fingers like liquid silk, just as enticing and difficult to capture as Loki himself. Thor looks up at him, bewildered and almost achingly hard. 

“Stop pouting, Thor, I have something much better in mind,” Loki says, still laughing or maybe he is laughing again, Thor can’t tell. He is too entranced by the slow slide of silk over the planes of Loki’s body, leaving him bare but for his drawers. His cock is hard, curving up between his legs, entirely unrestricted by the cloth surrounding it, the rosy flush of it so lewd against the innocent white cotton that Thor feels his mouth water. 

“If it’s not your ass then I don’t care. Come here,” Thor growls impatiently, never taking his eyes from Loki. 

Loki is beautiful. He’s standing amidst a pool of green silk and silver fur and Thor adores him, loves looking at him, all dark hair and pale skin; his slender body deceptively soft, the gentle dip of his waist fitting perfectly into the curve of Thor’s palms. Thor likes to think that only his hands fit Loki, only his cock fills him like needs it, that Loki was _made_ for him. 

“Impatient, are we,” Loki smirks. He takes one of the small bottles of oil they keep around the house from the table next to sofa and tosses it carelessly at Thor. With his other hand he flicks open the single button of his drawers and slides them teasingly over his hips, and while Thor thought he was beautiful before, now he groans at the hot throb of want that tugs at his insides and makes him fuck greedily in his own oil-slick fist. 

“Ah, but it seems I’m not the only one.” Thor huffs a laugh, hungrily eyeing the smears of wetness that are glistening on Loki’s inner thighs. “You’re sopping wet already, just thinking about my cock splitting you open.” 

Thor fists himself slowly, pushes deliberately up into his fist just to see Loki’s eyes darkening with want. 

Loki bends, slow and deliberate, and picks up his new coat, his eyes never leaving Thor’s cock. He slips into the coat with an indecent moan that sounds not much different from the ones he gasps out when Thor licks him open, burying his face in the high collar. 

“One could almost think that the coat arouses you more than my cock,” Thor grits out. If he is entirely truthful, it’s said only half in jest. 

“But I have been thinking about your cock all day,” Loki says, sliding into Thor’s lap. Thor knows it’s true, knows it from the tightness in his voice and– oh God, his hole, so soft and slick against the head of Thor’s cock. Loki is kneeling astride Thor’s thighs and guides Thor’s cock between his cheeks with his fingers wrapped tightly around Thor’s own. He shifts his hips, lets the head of Thor’s prick kiss the tight furl of his entrance. 

It takes all of Thor’s willpower to not simply pull him down on his cock and rut into him. 

“Did you sit here all evening with your ass open and waiting to be filled, you wanton minx?” Thor gasps breathlessly. He lets his head fall back against the back of the sofa, helplessly aroused by the thought. 

Oh, he can just imagine it: Loki, draped over the sofa, his hand working between his legs and a whine on his lips because his own slender fingers are never quite enough. 

Thor dips quickly between Loki’s legs, and yes, there is his answer: three of his fingers slide in easily, right to the second knuckle. Loki steadies himself with his hands on Thor’s shoulders and rolls his hips, contracting around them with a gasp. 

“Loki,” Thor hisses, half plea, half warning, because he’s rapidly losing his patience. 

“No, no, like this– just a…oh…little while longer,” Loki demands around a moan. One of his hands closes around Thor’s wrist between his legs and works Thor fingers deeper into himself. He shamelessly takes his pleasure, the very picture of wantonness with his head thrown back and his mouth bitten red. 

Thor can’t see where he’s buried inside of Loki, the view hidden by the sides of his coat, but the feeling of him–

“Fuck,” Thor swears. He pulls Loki into a harsh kiss with his free hand, urgent and wanting, biting all the need that is roiling within him into Loki’s mouth. Loki lets him, but his lips are slack against Thor’s. He’s distracted, too intent on shifting his hips _just right_ to do anything but letting himself be kissed. 

Loki’s insides are warm and snug around Thor’s fingers. Thor is aching to sink into him and feel the fluttering caress of Loki’s inner walls clenching around his cock, but he takes a deep breath to calm himself and hold out just a little longer because he wants Loki _wild_ for his cock. 

Thor curls his fingers and presses hard against the bundle of nerves right under the tips of his fingers. Loki’s wanton groan is deep, loud enough to wake the whole house even muffled by Thor’s mouth. “Do that again,” Loki orders, pulling back just enough so he can murmur it against Thor’s lips. Thor does and Loki squeezes around him with a quiet “ohfuckfuck _yes_ ” and now it’s Thor who curses loud enough to let even the last maid know what is happening in her masters’ sitting room. 

“Did I say I love you for your cock?” Loki asks with a breathless laugh, rocking his hips down on Thor’s hand. His thighs are quivering with the effort of holding himself up on his knees. “I lied, I think I like your fingers much better.” 

Loki smiles sharply at Thor, but it’s softened by the spots of color high on his cheeks and the groan he stutters out when Thor softly brushes his thumb over the underside of his sac. “I–oh… I could let you fuck my cunt like this for hours and never tire of it.” 

God, but Loki is beautiful like this, flushed with lust and the heat of the too-warm fur against his skin. 

Thor can’t imagine ever wanting anyone the way he wants Loki. He is everything Thor could wish for in a lover; sharp-witted and a perfect gentleman if society demands it or he feels so inclined, but also reckless and without shame, at times vulgar like a lowly bunter, matching Thor’s ravenous appetite for sex and drink and _life_. 

“Ah, yes, you would like that,” Thor says. He has no doubt that Loki means it, but he thinks he has taken enough of Loki’s teasing for today. Maybe Thor will indulge him another day, when he isn’t tired after a long day in the city. He’ll enjoy making Loki writhe and beg and come on his hand, but desire has been curling inside of him for so long that right now all Thor wants is a good hard fuck. 

Thor withdraws his fingers, ignoring Loki’s high-pitched yelp of protest, and fists his own cock. He adds more oil from the now empty bottle and holds his prick steady, slips his free hand under the coat and guides Loki down with a firm grip on his hip. 

His cock slips between Loki’s cheeks, slick skin against slick skin, but Thor takes only a moment to savor the soft clutch around his prick. The blunt pain of Loki’s fingers digging deep into his shoulders is a welcome distraction from the excruciating pleasure of Loki’s entrance yielding and tightening around him before he slinks down slowly, a long luxurious slide that has them both gasping. 

Thor’s whole body is strung tight with the need to _fuck_. His hands bracket Loki’s hips impatiently, sliding back to cup his bottom, prepared to help him move, but Loki is having none of it. 

“No, miliy, you have been so good to me,” Loki says, his voice soft and airy. His hands slide over Thor’s and lift them from his ass, pressing Thor’s palms into the sofa next to his thighs. “Let me, please. I’m going to make you come so hard,” he promises, circling his hips lazily. 

Thor digs his fingers into the soft cushions and takes a shuddering breath. “Then fuck me,” he grits out, lifting his hips and pressing deeper into Loki to make his point. 

Loki rides him hard. His inner walls drag over Thor’s cock every time he lifts his hips, clenching tight and milking Thor greedily for his own pleasure. Thor’s head is swimming at the perfect heat of him and the wet slap of skin against skin, the slick slide as Loki slams down hard, taking him balls-deep inside his body. 

He lifts his head for a kiss, desperate for touch, licking deep into Loki’s mouth when he dips his head, their mouths slanting against each other hot and urgent. 

“Feel how wet and open I am for you,” Loki breathes into the space between them, grinding down hard. He rolls his hips down onto Thor’s cock, stuttering out a high-pitched whine when the head rubs inside him just right. “How deep inside you are– _oh_ …” 

Thor can’t hold still any longer, not when Loki is slick and tight around his prick, when his balls are wedged tight against the slick cleft of Loki’s ass. He grips him tight around the waist and thrusts up hard into Loki’s tightly stretched hole, can’t help but gasp at the raw friction and the relief of finally being allowed to move. 

“I want to see,” Thor rasps. “Take it off!” He tugs at the collar of Loki’s coat, his hands clumsy, but Loki swats at him, shaking his head with a breathless laugh while he works his hips to meet Thor’s thrusts. Dark strands of hair are clinging to his flushed cheeks, making him look the picture of debauchery. 

Something wild uncurls inside of Thor and cuts the last strand of his restraint. He fucks in deep and comes with a roar, his release so sudden and violent his whole body shakes with it, his insides clenching tight. He spends himself deep inside Loki, pulling him so hard against his body he knows he’ll leave bruises. 

It takes him several heartbeats to muster enough wit to curl his hand around Loki’s cock, but when he does he meets Loki’s fingers, slick already with his own come. 

“Shhh, don’t fret,” Loki says, kissing the apology from Thor’s lips. “It only means I made good on my promise. You did come so hard you forgot everything else.” 

He’s smiling, but he can’t hide a wince when he shifts in Thor’s lap. Warmth trickles slowly over Thor’s balls and softening cock and he rolls his hips lazily up into Loki, coaxing more of his seed out of him, a possessive thrill shivering up his spine. 

Much to Thor’s surprise, they make it to their bedroom and into bed without incident. Loki sleepily fusses about his new coat on the way, still loud enough to wake the servants, threatening to make Thor take it to cleaners if there are any stains on it. 

Thor does not bother to point out that it was Loki who refused to take it off. He feels too mellow and sated for an argument, even a playful one, his body still tingling pleasantly from their lovemaking. 

The sheets are soft and cool against his naked skin and he falls asleep with one arm slung around Loki’s waist and Loki’s head a familiar weight on his chest.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor and Loki are having a fun day out.

The explosion comes unexpected and with a wash of light so bright it sears Thor’s eyes even behind closed lids. The windows are rattling with a noise so deafening as if the Baba Yaga and her Horsemen were clawing their way inside and surely this must be the end of the world. 

“Up, you lazy wastrels!”

Sif pulls back the last curtain, clucking her tongue impatiently and making a lot more racket than is strictly necessary for the simple task. 

“Come now, both of you! You cannot laze around in bed all day, it is almost noon. General Krupin already sent twice for you, Thor, and I am sure there must be _some_ task waiting for Loki as well.”

Thor tries to make sense of the words, but he fails miserably. He must take too long to acknowledge Sif’s orders, because she lifts the coverlet without any qualms or concern for modesty, only to drop it back quickly with an exasperated sigh. 

Thor can only imagine the sight they must make. Neither of them had bothered to wash up after their rather enthusiastic lovemaking last night and Thor is quite sure that his fingerprints are scattered all over Loki’s body, painted in a lovely shade of purple. 

“Come now, dear Sif, admit that you are impressed.” 

Loki’s voice sounds muffled and faintly amused from somewhere amid the pillows, accompanied by a suggestive wiggle of his ass. Somehow Loki’s ribaldry eases Thor’s suffering, even more so when it makes Sif leave the room, but not without a rude sound in the back of her throat.

***** 

Meals in Thor’s household have always been rich and plentiful and turned into lavish affairs with Loki’s arrival. Thor loves good meat and wine, often eating and drinking to the point of overindulgence even for a man his size, whereas Loki likes more diversity with his food, taking a bite here and a nip there. His appetite is quite healthy for someone so slender, and while Thor would like to think it is because of their frequent fucking he knows it’s deeply rooted in the time before he even met him. 

Loki rarely speaks of it, but Thor still remembers the young man he brought into his house only a couple of years ago: sharp and bright to a fault but also skittish like a cat, reed-thin and pale but oh so lovely.

And while Thor could never blame him for his lavish tastes just for that alone, he will do so even less because he knows the house servants benefit from the plentiful leftovers, more often than not adding treats to the table that they will enjoy themselves later. Only content servants will always keep their master’s secrets is a lesson Thor has learned quite painfully.

The offerings on the dining table today are very modest. Sif watches Thor with a raised brow and nods towards the meager collection of bread and cheese.

“Eat up, that is all you will get today. Katenka left early in the morning with all her belongings and refuses to come back. The cook refuses to go to the market herself and quite frankly, you don’t pay me nearly enough to run your house _and_ do common chores.” 

“Katenkia left,” Loki asks, shuffling in and catching the end of their one-sided conversation. “But why?” He sits down gingerly, his brow knit in confusion. Loki looks even worse than Thor feels: the snarl of his hair tangling in the delicate fur trimming of his robe and his skin is sallow, but Thor can’t help but find him lovely, a pleasant ache in his thigh and back reminding him just why Loki is in such a state. 

“Why, you ask? Because no sane and respectable woman would want to listen to you two fuck all night and look at your naked asses all day. You kept the whole house awake yesterday.”

“You seem to like it just fine, since you’re still here,” Loki smirks, forgoing what little food there is in favor of a cup of tea. 

“We all know that I’m not respectable and clearly I’m not sane to even listen to you,” Sif retorts tartly, already on her way out.

Thor accepts the plate that is pushed towards him gratefully, but even this will not fill his belly for long. They will have to go out for an early dinner. Maybe to the Yacht Club, it has been quite some time since their last visit. It always it too long, Thor muses while he chews slowly. He doesn’t know why, since they both enjoy the lively bustle and the fresh air at the pier.

“Well, then surely you don’t mind to find another maid for us or it _will_ be you who will have to cook,” Loki calls after her. 

“I wonder if there are any maids left in the city that haven’t fled our house,” Thor wonders. He would gladly blame this predicament on Loki alone, but more often than not it is him who cannot contain his lust for Loki and ends up scandalizing the servants. 

“Most probably not,” Loki says, examining an envelope neither of them had noticed before. “Maybe we should try a houseboy then,” he suggests with a devilish glint in his eyes that Thor has come to fear over the years. “Just imagine the _scandal_ , given our not so secret predilections. Oh, I would love to see all their oh-so-proper faces, discussing all the unspeakable things they imagine we would do to the lad.”

“I will talk to Sif, surely there is a way to persuade the girl to come back.”

“Of course, we will just keep our fucking to the bedroom and under the covers then,” Loki replies coolly. “How very comme il faut and so very boring.”

“Now, between eating and fucking in the bedroom and fucking everywhere and starving, what choice do we have,” Thor asks, quite reasonably, ignoring the deliberately loud clattering in the next room. Sif’s senses aren’t delicate enough to be truly offended by their choice of conversation, quite the contrary. He has overheard enough talk between her and Loki that would make the good ladies of St. Petersburg faint with indignation. 

“I can cook, it is not that hard,” Loki offers absentmindedly, breaking the seal on the letter, his eyes rapidly scanning the creamy colored paper. Thor is still mulling over this quite surprising revelation of yet another one of Loki’s hidden talents when suddenly the temperature in the room seems to drop several degrees. 

“That cow,” Loki hisses icily, flinging the sheaf on the table as if burned by it. To Thor it looks like an invitation, nothing out of the ordinary and surely not deserving such a display of drama. 

“Count Odr Sokoloff and the Countess Freya Sokoloff cordially invite us to their annual ball and are pleased to inform us that for the first time it will take place at the Winter Palace.”

“Well, that is impressive,” Thor offers cautiously, deciding that it’s better to tread softly until he knows what sparked Loki’s sudden wrath. “Sokoloff’s business seems to be thriving more than I thought.”

“Impressive?” Loki scowls. He rises quickly, almost topping over his chair with the force of it. A flush is staining his pale cheeks and deepening by the second. 

“Do you even remember that it was Sokoloff who convinced the Emperor that his scrawny mares are superior to your own breeding and is now providing the horses for the Imperial Army? This—” he stabs his finger sharply at the invitation— “this is his way of reminding you of his victory.” 

Loki paces the room with angry strides to and fro, gesturing wildly. 

“To think that I told her about my own plans for a ball at the Palace just two days ago. How foolish of me, I should have recognized her interest for the falseness it was.”

Thor thinks that is hardly a matter as dire as Loki makes it out to be, but he knows Loki will not be placated. He holds a hand out for him anyways, glad when Loki takes it easily enough and comes to sit in his lap. He hates to see Loki in distress, even if over such a seemingly small affair. 

“The fool only got the trade because Nicholas has as little taste for cock as he does,” Loki fumes. “Pity, a bit of cock might help to loosen up the both of them.”

“Loki, you can’t—” Thor starts, torn between laughter and outrage, but Loki shushes him with his fingers against his lips, his eyes suddenly serious and a little troubled. 

“Do you ever regret bringing me here, admitting who I am to you?” Thor almost can’t hear him, he speaks so quietly. “You could be rich, one of the most powerful men in the Empire if you would just marry the right woman and be a proper noble, worthy of your stand.”

Thor’s heart clenches at the words, caught by surprise how something so fragile can hurt so much. For a long moment he finds it hard to breathe around the rage that overwhelms him, at the doubt in Loki’s words; not the doubt in his love for Loki, never that, he knows Loki is sure of his affections. No, it’s Loki’s doubt in himself that makes him angry, that sometimes he will still think himself unworthy of Thor’s love.

“I _am_ rich,” Thor replies, just as quietly. He kisses Loki’s cheek and pulls him against his chest, hoping that the beat of his heart will be proof of his sincerity. “I already am one of the wealthiest men in the Empire because of your cunning and vast knowledge of the markets, and for that I’m grateful. But I am rich beyond measure because I have your heart and your acceptance of my love. It is all I could ask for, and I do hope that you know that.”

Loki’s nod is almost imperceptible, but it is enough. 

***** 

Loki arrives at the Yacht Club late in the afternoon. Thor will not be here for at least another hour, but Loki decided to come early because he loves to stroll along the pier and watch the majestic yachts and many smaller vessels rocking gently on the rippling surface of the Neva river. 

Thor decided to pay a visit to General Krupin after all, as much out of courtesy as heartfelt respect. He may not be an active member of the Corps anymore, but a call from his former General is not something to be ignored, especially not since they are in the business of selling horses specifically bred for endurance. Sokoloff’s days as sole provider for the royal stables are numbered, Loki will make sure of it. Theirs is not a large business, gaining significantly less than their dealings on the world market. But it’s very dear to Thor who often loves to work in the stables himself as a means to relax, and thus it is important to Loki as well and he does what he can to make sure it’s thriving. 

The pier is busy despite the relatively early hour. The good citizens like to flaunt their wealth and what better way is there than spending the day in leisure and leave the work to the servants and peasants. 

Loki is wearing his black mink today, a plush short coat that accentuates the slim cut of his grey trousers. The sleek fur is a lovely match for his black curls, and if Loki’s ears are pink and freezing because he went out without the matching hat it’s a small prize he gladly pays for the admiring looks people are casting his way. 

He walks slowly, stopping occasionally to exchange a few words with acquaintances and friends. The Countess Jane looks lovely today, a blush staining her cheeks when Loki tells her so. He openly admires the silky stone marten coat she’s wearing, the soft brown fur almost the same color as her hair. His hand finds her arm all of its own, stroking over the soft fur lovingly. It only occurs to him that he touched without permission when his hand already stings with Jane’s slap, his adoration for fur once again letting him forget all courtesy. Jane tuts at him but her eyes dance with laughter when she shoos him away, knowing him all to well.

Hastening his steps he reaches his destination without any further distractions, a berth at the far end of the pier. 

Thor’s yacht is modest rather for practical reasons than a lack of funds. While they both enjoy a few leisurely hours on deck, neither of them is an experienced sailor and Loki has enough unpleasant memories of sea voyages to quench any desire for more. 

And still, Loki loves the barge dearly. Its old name can still be seen, _Sila_ peeking out under the new golden letters covering it. 

_Sigyn_. The Faithful. Even two years later Loki’s heart still flutters with the same excitement than the day Thor brought him here and asked for his approval for the new name. 

“Bit small, isn’t it?”

Loki turns towards the speaker, startled out of his thoughts. If it were not for the voice Loki wouldn’t know if it’s a boy or a girl under all those layers of dirt. Not a boy but a young man it seems, and he looks challengingly at Loki. “Nice lady, too, with the shiny hair,” he adds slyly when Loki fails to answer his question.

“What do you want,” Loki asks gruffly, more annoyed at himself for not noticing the boy obviously following him around than with the question himself. He is not surprised when the boy stretches out a palm that’s shockingly even dirtier than his face.

“If you want money you must give me something in return,” Loki demands. He learned that nothing is for free at a young age and he suspects this boy knows it, too.

The small bundle of silk the boy thrusts at him after some rummaging in his pockets is not what Loki expected. In fact he’s so surprised by it that he accepts it without question and tears curiously at the layers. 

The scent hits Loki before he finds whats nestled inside. Pastila, perfectly shaped and impossible to resist. The sugary treat melts on Loki’s tongue in a delicious amalgam of sweet sugar and tart apples, but before he can voice his appreciation with more than an excited moan the boy suddenly bolts with a terrified look on his face.

Thor. Of course it is Thor, who else would send somebody as bold as this young man running by his appearance alone. 

Loki is no fool and perfectly aware that Thor is terribly indulgent with him and his many whims; indulgent to a fault as his dear friends would insist, especially the fat one. But in no way does Thor’s well-known soft spot for Loki belie that he is a dangerous man; no suit or coat, however well-cut, will conceal that he has the thickly-muscled body of a man who knows how to fight. 

No such display of strength would be necessary today, though, because Thor’s thunderous expression is grim enough to make grown men take to their heels. 

Loki sighs inwardly. Thor is rarely in a good mood after a visit in the General’s quarter, torn between the demands for his return to duty and his personal beliefs, but today Loki is determined not to have his perfectly pleasant evening ruined by whatever pesky problem Krupin might have unloaded onto Thor’s shoulders.

“There you are,” Loki exclaims, hurrying to greet Thor with an ardent kiss. Soon enough the tension drains from Thor’s shoulders and his lips curve up against Loki’s own, letting Loki know that he’s grateful for the welcome distraction from his unpleasant day. 

“Better now?” Loki asks, breaking the kiss much earlier than he would like, but already there’s a murmur of indignation around them. “You looked troubled.” 

“All better now, how couldn’t it be after a welcome like that.” Thor pulls him close around the waist and Loki presses even closer, smiling beatifically at a dowager who regards them with a look that quickly turns from sour to outright scandalized when Loki winks at her. 

“I’m not sure you deserve it for letting me wait out here in the cold.” 

Loki easily falls into stride beside Thor. They’d agreed to meet at the Sigyn even though they are here to merely dine today, and since their berth is at the far end of the pier it will be quite a little walk back to the restaurant. Loki doesn’t mind, in fact he very much enjoys the opportunity to flaunt his wardrobe and the handsome man at his side.

“How am I letting you wait when I am perfectly on time, hmmm,” Thor asks mildly, raising a brow at Loki. There’s still a slight shadow lingering around his eyes, but Loki knows it is time to give it a rest. Thor will talk about his troubles eventually, and until then Loki will try his best to distract him from them.

“Well, I _did_ wait for you,” Loki insists. “I waited for so long that I even found myself a little distraction.”

“That boy?” Thor snorts indelicately. “And here I thought that lout was simply bothering you.”

“Oh, not at all, he even brought me sweets,” Loki says with a pleased little hum at the memory of the sweet treat. It only occurs to him now that he didn’t have a chance to repay the boy after his rather dramatic departure.

“Is that what I tasted on your lips,” Thor huffs, squeezing hard around Loki’s elbow. “I thought I taught you better than to accept food from strangers.”

“Oh please, stop being such a grump,” Loki sighs, even though his heart thumps a little faster. Of course Thor is right, it was rather foolish of him to let his cravings overrule all common sense, but there’s no need to let him know that. “Every man needs a little adventure once in a while.”

“Adventure, you say,” Thor huffs around a laugh. “Well, never let it be said that I do not tend to all your needs. I’ll give you adventure alright, my dear Loki.”

Thor steers him away from the main pier with firm pressure on his arm and Loki suddenly finds himself whisked into one of the old boathouses that are scattered along the pier, little more than old boards held together by peeling paint. He is rather impressed with Thor’s display of cunning, but then Thor’s mouth is on him, hard and demanding, and Loki’s world quickly narrows down to nothing but Thor’s tongue boldly licking into him and Thor’s thigh pressing up between his legs.

“Somebody could see,” Loki gasps when Thor finally allows him to breathe again, doing his very best to sound at least a little scandalized. 

“And what would they see? You and me kissing,” Thor murmurs against the line of his jaw. “Just like back at the pier.”

“I don’t think I was riding your leg out there,” Loki manages to groan out. He is struggling to stand with Thor’s thigh moving slowly against his cock, forcing up him on his toes, and it is so good, the seam of his trousers dragging over his balls in a deliciously maddening seesaw.

“I didn’t know you care so much about propriety.” Thor laps into Loki’s mouth, deep and wet, his large hands on Loki’s hips making him shiver with want. “Is this what it has come to, that you value a random babbitt’s misguided sensibilities higher than my needs and your own pleasure?”

Right now the only thing Loki cares about is having Thor inside him, his mouth, his ass, it doesn’t matter, he simply _wants_. Thor must know it, surely he must feel it. Curse the man for deciding to talk _now_.

“I wouldn’t dare, Your High Nobility,” Loki sobs out on a laugh, delighted by Thor’s brazenness despite the desire that is already threatening to burn him up. 

“You should have more common sense than letting yourself get defiled in public,” Thor chides him, spinning Loki around and pressing him against the wall. 

Loki wants to tell him that he is making no sense at all, but then Thor is leaning heavily against his back, pressing him into the rough wood, one of Thor’s large hands quickly squeezing his hip before it cups him through his trousers, and all thought is forgotten. Even through two layers of cloth Thor’s touch excites him, Loki’s already half-hard cock fattening so quickly he almost feels faint with the raw pleasure of it.

“Like this,” Thor rasps, opening Loki’s trousers deftly and freeing his cock, bold and sure of what is his. Loki trembles with a sudden rush of titillation at the lewdness of it, his cock straining and drooling in Thor’s grasp, out there to see for anyone who might happen to stumble upon them.

“No!” Loki voice slips into a whine and only Thor’s hand on his mouth reminds him of the need to be quiet. He licks Thor’s fingers in silent acquiescence, repeating his demand once Thor’s hand slides from his mouth back this hip, albeit much quieter. “Inside,” Loki whispers urgently. “I want you inside. You were thorough enough last night, I can take you.”

“Silly, you can’t, not like this and you know it.” Thor squeezes his cock in warning and Loki gives a frustrated little mewl, as much at being denied than at having to admit that Thor is right. 

“Shush, I promise you’ll love this,” Thor whispers against Loki’s cheek. Cold air hits Loki’s skin as Thor tugs his trousers and knickers down just below his bottom with one hand and struggles to open his own trousers at the same time with the other. Loki hisses at the discomfort, but even the freezing air cannot cool his desire. He pushes back into Thor impatiently, a complaint ready on his lips, but it’s swallowed by the moan he can’t hold back as Thor’s cock slides wetly between his thighs. 

Loki loves to lie in Thor’s strong arms, trying to convey all the things he can never seem to find the right words for; he loves long nights of lovemaking, sometimes rough and sometimes slow, but he also loves this: fucking just for the sake of fucking and sating their lust for each other. It’s reckless, exciting and after just a few thrusts Thor is already panting heavily into Loki’s neck. 

Loki closes his legs, tensing the muscles in his thighs, and like this it almost feels as if Thor is truly fucking him, the thick head of his cock hitting the soft spot behind Loki’s balls with every slick slide into the tight crevice Loki creates for him. His hand is loose around Loki’s cock, simply holding him, but every thrust pushes Loki forward into the tight ring of his fingers, making him shake apart with his moans muffled against his own arm. 

Loki’s orgasm rips through him completely unexpected, the hard slide of Thor’s cock between his cheeks making him come with his fingers carving into the dry wood of the wall and a shocked gasp, leaving him trembling like a leaf. He spends himself all over Thor’s hand and the hem of his coat, even the front of his trousers, to the feeling Thor’s come splashing wetly against his balls. 

***** 

They never make it to the restaurant. Loki’s trousers are utterly ruined, and while Thor can’t say that he minds he _is_ grateful that Loki’s coat is long enough to protect his dignity and their reputation. Society grudgingly turns a blind eye on him openly loving a man, but only as long as he’s richer than the lot of them and will not let himself be caught actually fucking him. 

Their rooms are brightly lit but empty upon their return. Sif has retreated to the small guest wing she inhabits since she took over the household, but being the kind person that she is, she took pity on them and left a bowl of Okroshka for them on the table in the kitchen. 

They eat cold soup on the sofa in the living room, a fire still burning brightly and warming the room. They’ll have to thank Sif for her kindness tomorrow. She’s not only their housekeeper but also a good friend, something they don’t always remember to appreciate as much as they should. 

“Do you care to share now what troubled you earlier,” Loki asks around a mouthful of soup. 

Thor regards him fondly. He has changed into a long green nightshirt and woolen slippers and hasn’t stopped complaining that his ass is freezing since they left the boathouse. 

“I can’t even tell what it is exactly,” Thor sighs. He already finished his meal and leans back heavily into the cushions, grasping for the right words. “Of course Krupin asked me to join the Corps again, it would not be a proper visit if he wouldn’t. But today was different. He insisted it was important for the Emperor to gather his supporters against— ah, how did he say— subversive groups within the nobility.”

“So he talked about us,” Loki says drily, setting his bowl aside. 

“We hardly are a subversive group. We’re liberal and support change, but as far as I know none of us really intend to depose the Emperor.” Thor closes his eyes and rolls his shoulder, feeling the same unease in his bones as earlier today. “No, I think there really is such a group. Nicholas wouldn’t be so concerned about such a thing without reasonable evidence. What worries me is the way Krupin looked at me, as if he was somehow testing me.”

Thor feels Loki settle against his side, nodding against his shoulder. 

“You think he suspects us to be part of this new group.” 

Sharp as ever, Loki immediately catches on to Thor’s thoughts. He shrugs, sounding already drowsy when he continues. “There is not much we can do right now, I suppose. But somebody or something must have pointed our way, so we have to be even more careful who to trust.”

Thor nods unhappily at the implications in that, but for now it will have to do. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincerest apologies that it took so long for me to continue this. If you follow me on tumblr or twitter you know that some very un-fun things happened in my family shortly after I posted the first chapter, and quite frankly until now I didn't have the energy to dive back into the extensive research for this fic. Thank you so much to everyone who hasn't given up on this, I promise the next chapters will come quicker!


	3. Chapter 3

Diversity is always to be welcomed, but there are some things about Loki Thor will never understand. Like his choice of tea.

Thor sniffs cautiously. The stench of the herbal concoction is positively vile, residing somewhere between horse piss and the smell of a public bath. Why Loki insists in growing and tending to all kinds of herbs in their garden if this is the result is beyond Thor’s grasp, especially if there is the best Caravani at their disposal. However, it is one of Loki’s more harmless whims, and as long as Thor is not required to drink the foul brew he is more than happy to indulge Loki. He considers the cup in his hand for a moment, then sloshes a healthy amount of vodka into it. He has nothing against tea, but a belly full of vodka is still the best way to cure all ailments.

Loki is still where Thor left him before he went to the kitchen, laid out before the hearth on a mound of pillows and blankets. He greets Thor with an impressive sneeze that makes Thor eyes water in sympathy.

“Here, miliy.” Thor hands Loki the cup before he sits down next to him, careful not to spill anything. Loki takes a few sips before he thanks him, and surprisingly enough his voice already sounds a bit better. 

“There’s no need to stare,” Loki sniffs. It might sound more intimidating if he would not look quite so adorable with his fluffy hair and his nose glowing like a ruby in his pale face. “Please be more considerate in your choices of accommodations the next time you decide to ravish me in public.”

“I believe I wasn’t alone in my eagerness to bare your ass,” Thor laughs, but he dutifully resumes his task of massaging Loki’s feet which currently resemble large lumps of ice. 

“Maybe not,” Loki allows, “and yet I’m the one who suffers for it. It’s terribly inconvenient, and it also our plans to visit the skating rink. I can’t go out to socialize with the ladies looking like this.” Loki delicately touches his nose and promptly starts sneezing again. 

“I can see your suffering, indeed.” Thor picks up the glass of vodka he left behind earlier and takes a generous sip to hide his smile, but he suspects Loki can feel the curl of his lips when he leans over to share the sharp spirit with a kiss. 

*****

Time is a luxury all the ruble in the world cannot buy. Thor knows that only too well, but he does not have to like it or stop hoping for small wonders.

The summons reaches him barely two weeks after his last visit to General Krupin. Loki has finally recovered from his cold and waves him off absentmindedly, bent over large stacks of thick paper and ribbon, no doubt plotting something exquisite and very expensive. 

The streets of the Military District are familiar, would be even comforting if it weren’t for the reason of Thor’s visit. He is lead to the general’s office by a fresh-faced private, a young man who keeps casting him curious glances, no doubt wondering how this well-clad gentleman could be the war veteran everybody only talks about in hushed voices. 

“Have you thought about my offer?” 

Krupin doesn’t bother with social niceties upon Thor’s entry, nor does Thor expect him to. He has known the older man for a long time and is used to his brusqueness. In fact, today he even welcomes it, as it spares him the need for diplomacy. 

“No,” he replies, equally short. “I already gave you my answer two weeks ago and I haven’t seen the need to reconsider it.”

“You do realize you are still on reserve for two more years and the Emperor—”

“The Emperor knows very well that I have fulfilled my duties many times over, I am sure of it.” Thor helps himself to a glass of liquor unasked, more out of a need to occupy his hands than real desire for a drink. He respects Krupin, more than he can ever express, but the General is also a reminder of dark times Thor prefers not to think about or drown in copious amounts of vodka on those occasions his memories of the war decide to rear their ugly heads. 

“That you have, and your skills are more valuable than ever in these challenging times.”

“My _skills_?” Thor knocks back his drink and immediately refills the glass. He has a feeling he will need it. “What do you expect from me? That I raze down our own people like a pack of Turks?”

“Maybe.” Krupin’s hands are steady when he pours himself a drink. He raises it to Thor before he downs it. “The protests are getting worse. So far only from the peasants, but as I mentioned in our last conversation there are rumors that some of our own peers sympathize with them and seek to depose the Emperor.” He looks at Thor, his gaze hard and unwavering. “Some of us— or their acquaintances.”

Thor sets his glass down hard on the small table and puts his hands flat on the gleaming wood. The gesture allows him the few seconds he needs to gather his thoughts before he meets Krupin’s stare. 

Thor knew it would come to this. He’s even glad that what has been left unsaid between them for weeks is now out in the open, but he can’t let the other man know his mind. 

Thor isn’t one of the revolutionists, far from it. He is too aware of the countless privileges that come with noble birth and not willing to give up on them. But he agrees that the only way to save their crumbling Empire is to open themselves to the West again, the one thing Nicholas tries to prevent at all costs. Krupin is a brilliant strategist, but he’s set in the old ways, his loyalty to the Emperor staunch to a fault. 

“Maybe you should examine your own acquaintances then, for mine do no such thing.”

Krupin rounds the table and mirrors Thor’s stance, their fingertips almost touching on the dark wood. “You must send him away, Thor. He’s dangerous. What’s worse, he’s making a mockery out of you. Look at yourself. You were my finest soldier, but when did you even last cut your hair?”

Thor looks down on his groomed nails, not a trace of dirt or blood under them. His light grey suit is the latest fashion from Paris, made by the finest tailors Moscow has to offer. 

He’s glad and grateful for what he sees.

“People change. Some of us for the better.” Thor lets the implication hang heavily between them. “I’m noble by birth. I was a soldier and now I’m a successful businessman. And Loki— he makes me _happy_.”

“I swear, Odinson, that man—” Krupin nods thoughtfully, almost as if he expected Thor’s answer. He straightens, his gaze turning cold. “I could have you exiled for _muzhelozhstvo_. What would happen to your precious Loki while you’re rotting away in Siberia, I wonder.”

“Are you threatening me with a law that has never been carried out in our ranks for over a hundred years?” Something unravels in Thor’s chest and he laughs; a choice he didn’t know he’d have to make one day suddenly an easy one.

“Good day, General.” Thor stands back and walks to the door. There’s nothing left here for him, but only a small part of him is sad for it. He pauses briefly before he leaves, looking back at his former mentor. “When was the last time _you_ were happy?”

*****

As always Thor’s mood brightens considerably when he looks out of the tram and sees two horses from his own stables drawing the horsecar. What better proof could there be that he’s made the right choices, that Krupin is wrong for seeing only the mindlessly killing soldier in him. 

Thor exists at the Palace Square, stepping into the bustle of St. Petersburg at noon. His destination, one of several warehouses he owns across the city, is quite a distance away, but Thor doesn’t mind the walk. He enjoys the golden roofs gleaming in the pale sun and the crisp wind whipping his hair into his face.

Thor walks briskly. He nods to acquaintances, never one to forego courtesy, but he does not slow his steps and soon enough the wide streets become more narrow and dark, the splendor of palaces and townhouses replaced by modest quarters before those too give way to a well-trodden street lined with storehouses. 

Thor is greeted by loud curses ringing through the open door. He absentmindedly notices that the massive stones seem to have blackened even more since his last visit, soot and dirt some of the more unfavorable signs of progress.

The curses abruptly stop as soon as he enters and Thor is greeted by a booming “Your Highness!”. Anton, his trusty coachman, is standing at attention with a cloth clutched in his hand.

“Oh, it’s marvelous!” Thor laughs out loud, delighted by the gleaming automobile in front of him. _His_ automobile, and it will be one of the first of its kind in St. Petersburg. He rounds it slowly, stroking a loving hand over the polished black metal. The motorcar looks much like a small carriage, just large enough to seat two persons. Thor still thinks it a small miracle that it will move without a horse to draw it.

Thor climbs onto the narrow seat, his heart hammering in his chest. He almost feels like the time traveller in the book Loki has been reading to him, venturing into the unknown on a strange machine. Thor breathes deeply, taking in the scent of oil and burnished metal. The seat feels surprisingly soft under his hands, the leather buttery soft. He can see how Loki will love the lavishness of it, preening under St. Petersburg’s envious stares every time they will drive through the busy streets. That alone is almost enough to justify the outrageous cost.

Yakovlev had taught Thor how to drive the car right after they signed the contract, but Thor had insisted that an instructor would arrive along with the vehicle to teach his coachman as well. And so he spends the next hours under Anton’s gruff tutelage, navigating through narrow and deserted streets everyone seems to have forgotten about.

*****

Thor arrives home late and Loki can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief when he hears him whistling a tune in the hallway. Loki worries about those visits to Krupin, but he knows better than to press Thor about them. Thor has lived a full life long before they met, and as much Loki loathes some aspects of it, he would never ask Thor to forget who he was and who made him the man Loki loves.

“Stop fretting. If you think his mood is bad now after his little chats with the general, you should have seen him how he was before— before he brought you home.” 

Next to him Sif trails off and pins another swath of fabric to the wall of the living room. Loki, who is holding the pieces in place, hisses at the first prick to his finger and outright shouts when the second needle draws blood. He glares at her, and his outrage only grows when she merely raises an unapologetic brow at him. 

Examining his bleeding finger Loki decides pain is as much an excuse for a drink as any other. He stalks off to the liquor table, pouring two glasses of vodka and downing one of them before he fills it again, for a bird never flew on one wing. 

“I’m glad to see nobody is dying.” Thor steps into the room with his coat still on, the worried look on his face changing to one of utter bewilderment as he takes in the scene before him. 

“Not quite,” Loki admits, albeit grudingly. He crosses the room and greets Thor with a kiss and a drink, offering his wounded finger as a way of explanation. A small drop of blood is still clinging to his skin. Thor examines it carefully before he closes his lips around the very tip of Loki’s finger and laps at it, both of his hands clasped around Loki’s smaller one. Heat flares in Loki’s belly at the intimate caress, so sudden he can’t hold back a moan. He should be used to it by now, how even the simplest touch from Thor is enough to bring him to his knees, but the only thing that is keeping him from tearing at Thor’s coat is the sound of Sif pointedly clearing her throat. 

Thor straightens slowly, releasing him with a lingering press of lips, and Loki feels strangely bereft. He could not care less about Sif at the moment, not when everything in him urges him to drop to his knees, take out Thor’s cock and lave at him exactly like Thor did just to him. 

“What have you two been doing, then? Is there a reason you are pinning pieces of golden fabric to the wall?” Thor’s voice sounds perfectly normal, damn the man. Loki has to clear his throat twice before he trusts his voice to not give away his arousal.

“We are sampling fabrics for our annual ball. Our enquiry to hold it at the Winter Palace has been approved, didn’t I tell you that?” 

Loki stops to take a deep breath. He hates to admit that he has been waiting anxiously for word from the Palace for days. Under any other circumstances he would have been content to hold their ball at the Anichkovy Palace, but not after they had received Sokolov’s invitation. Only the most wealthy and noble members of society are invited to use the lavish rooms at the Emperor’s residence. If a parvenu like Sokolov is suddenly to be counted among them, nothing else is acceptable for Thor. 

“No, you didn’t.” Thor pulls him close, eying the fabric curiously. 

“Which one would you prefer?” Loki asks. He leans heavily into Thor, which Sif takes as her cue to leave. Wine, staff, even the orchestra are provided by the palace for occasions as these, which makes the choice of décor even more important. Receptions at the Odinson residence are known to be lavish and elegant affairs and Loki intends for this ball to be no different. 

Thor knows all of that, of course. He takes his time, examining the different shades of gold and rubbing the fabric between his fingers before he makes his choice. “This one,” Thor finally decides, pointing to a warm gold enwrought with red and green. 

It is not Loki’s own choice, but he likes it well enough. “Why this one,” he asks, examining the fabric again. 

“It reminds me of us.”

*****

Loki blames it on the early hour that it took him so long to notice that they aren’t headed to the skating rink. Anton is taking them south instead, their carriage rumbling along the banks of the Neva River at a leisurely pace. 

Loki sighs and adjusts his collar. Thor with a plan is like a dog with a bone. Usually the outcome is more than favorable, so Loki doesn’t mind the detour, especially not when the view is as lovely as today. Winter has finally arrived and instead of ships and boats the only thing that disturbs the quiet river are the first ice floes drifting by. 

“Stop fussing, Loki, you look fine.”

Loki narrows his eyes at Thor. He loathes being told what to do, and this is already the second time in just as many days. 

“I do not look _fine_ ,” Loki says. It comes out sharper than necessary, but then, Thor’s compliments usually have a little more fire than this. Common folks look fine. Loki looks _breathtaking_ in his new sable coat, and because he is suddenly feeling mulish and uncharitable he fusses some more with it, brushing over the silky wealth of silver and brown, fluffing it against the grain only to flatten it on the next stroke.

Oh, Loki can’t wait for them to arrive at the skating rink. Nobody will miss this extravagant token of Thor’s affection. Every woman (and not just a few men) will wish to be in his place, and Loki has _plans_ to show them exactly that wishes are all they can have.

“Loki!”

Loki startles, jolted from his pleasant daydreams by Thor’s hand shaking his shoulder. They have stopped at the edge of the road, and from the look on Thor’s face it is not the first time he tried to catch Loki’s attention.

“What could so important that you forget everything around you,” Thor asks with a laugh, immediately holding up a hand to stop Loki from actually answering the question. Loki smirks. He does love a smart man. 

He finally looks around to see why they have stopped and Thor is looking at him so expectantly. On the other side of the sidewalk gold and jewels are laid out behind arched windows, beckoning him with their elegant sparkle and making Loki’s breath catch in his throat. How could he have missed— 

“I’m not buying you an egg.” Thor winks at him, quite obviously pleased with himself and rightfully so. 

Loki follows Thor into the elegantly decorated shop and takes everything in with wide eyes, for once at a loss for words. They are greeted by a balding man who shakes Thor’s hand like that of an old friend. 

“And you must be Loki,” the man says with a smile, leading them to a glass display. “Thor told me quite some things about you, and I must say that he was right.” 

“Mister Fabergé only rarely works for anyone but the Emperor himself, but I was able to convince him that someone as special as my Loki deserves only the best,” Thor explains, nudging Loki forward with a hand against the small of his back. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Fabergé. As we know Thor is a gentleman who would never lie, so I am of course inclined to believe him,” Loki smiles, glad that at least his manners are returning, if not his wit. It’s only those manners that are keeping him from kissing Thor deeply like he wants to, although he probably is fooling no one. _His Loki._

An elegant box is presented to them by Mr. Fabergé. “You lied,” Loki breathes, his hand fluttering to his mouth. “You bought me two eggs.” Nestled inside, pillowed on black silk, is a pair of cufflinks shaped like eggs. The gold is formed into delicate scales, each one of them ringed with rows of small diamonds and adorned with a flawless emerald in the middle. 

“Fierce and beautiful, just like you.” Thor’s hands are sure and steady as they remove Loki’s plain gold cufflinks and replace them with the sparkling eggs. Loki own hands are trembling with emotion, and he knows Thor can feel it when he wraps his fingers around Thor’s, a firm squeeze all he can afford to show his love and gratitude in a place like this. 

“Well then,” Thor smiles, squeezing back firmly. There is a wicked glint in his eyes Loki knows all too well. “I believe the skating rink is waiting for us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not even trying to make excuses for how late this is. I simply suck at wip's and everyone who is still following this must have the patience of a saint and deserves all the awards. The good news is that the next chapter is almost finshed, packed with fur and scandal and considerably less angst.
> 
> I took some liberties with Russian history to fit my plot in this chapter. Thor is much too young to have fought in the Russo-Turkish War, so let's just pretend it ended in 1887 rather than 1878. I promise it won't hurt anyone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki likes to combine pleasure and business, today it's ice skating and scheming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am the worst, I have no excuses. If you're still following this you're a true champion <3

The Aquarium is already bustling with life when they arrive, so much so they have to stand in line with the many other couples and small groups waiting to pay their entrance fee. 

It’s long past noon when they finally pass the large entrance gate and it seems Thor and Loki are not the only ones entertaining the idea of a late lunch. The restaurants are already packed, so instead of waiting for a table they content themselves with small sandwiches and dried sturgeon from the many refreshment stands that line the path through the park. Loki fingers the little box that is tucked deep inside the pocket of his coat and finds that he does not mind the rather meager meal at all.

The skating rink is a large field of ice, cradled between two rows of carefully trimmed trees and lined by benches that invite to stop and rest for a moment. It’s immaculately maintained, one of the many reasons Loki likes the Aquarium much better than the many other pleasure gardens strewn all over the city. Their number is ever increasing, most of them much more affordable and frequented by commoners and workers, lacking the extravagant attractions the Aquarium offers, like the many theaters or the kinemo with its moving photographs. And even those who cannot or do not want to afford even those simple venues need not relinquish the pleasures of culture: natural skating rinks, simple music halls and temperance theaters, all offering entertainment for the less fortunate.

Loki once went to one of those smaller rinks by the riverside that are nothing more than the river freezing over when the temperature is low enough for several days. A little adventure, right after he arrived in the city and everything seemed foreign and so incredibly vast. He still remembers the whip crack sound when the ice gave way under his weight and the worry on Thor’s face when he finally slunk home like a bedraggled cat. They never speak of it and that is just how Loki likes it. 

This here, this is much more after Loki’s taste. People dressed in lavish coats and elegant hats are milling about, stopping occasionally to buy food and refreshments and exchange pleasantries. 

Loki follows Thor to a small group of people, some of them mutual acquaintances and some he doesn’t know. He forgets sometimes that Thor has lived in St. Petersburg for all his life, that he lived a rich life long before they met. 

At first Loki is content to follow the conversation floating around him, ever changing with people joining them and walking away to mingle with others. He’s still glowing and warm with the lingering feeling of Thor’s unwavering affection, too content to let his mood be dulled by idle chitchat. 

However, it cannot last surrounded by so many people and soon enough though he finds himself engaged in a lively conversation, with Volstagg of all people. 

"Innovation," Volstagg huffs, as if the word alone is insulting, his cheeks even redder than usual. "Stinking factories and _cars_ , clothes so thin they will not keep anyone’s ass warm. What is wrong with being content with what one has?"

"Because then you would still be living in a shack in the woods and hunting bears instead of keeping your impressive ass warm in a nice, cozy home."

"And how much longer will we have those homes with this kind of economy? It is madness, all of it. Freeing the peasants! What’s next, paying them?

"You demand compensation for the services you provide as well," Loki points out. "What makes you think that they feel any different?" 

Loki strokes over the sleeve of his coat, admiring the lush fur as much as trying to keep his temper in check. He has no qualms about telling Volstagg what a cretin his is, but there is little satisfaction in pointing out the obvious. 

"If you could see beyond your own nose you would realize that the economy is sound and stable. It’s merely changing. If you would allow me—"

"Spare me your ideas about stocks and such nonsense," Volstagg grumbles, his breath billowing in front of his face. "Progress, bah, I spit on it. They are taking away our ruble, how much worse can it get!"

"Oh what nonsense. Nobody is taking away anything. We have the golden standard now, which means it is even stronger." Loki reaches into Thor’s coat pocket and pulls out a brand-new, golden ruble that glints in the sun as he spins it between his fingers. It is a vulgar and unacceptable display of wealth, but when did Loki ever let that stop him? 

Loki had not thought Volstagg’s face could turn any ruddier, but it is quite amusing to see it happen. Yes, he is Thor’s friend, but with his old-fashioned and stubborn views he is also trying to hold Thor back from achieving the great things he is capable of. He deserves to suffer for that, at least a little.

"Miliy, would you allow me the pleasure of skating with me? It is such a nice day for some exercise." Thor steers Loki away from their small group with a firm grip on his arm. "Was that really necessary?" he asks, paying for their skates with yet another golden coin from his pocket.

"You know how much his obstinacy irks me," Loki says. He refrains from saying more, his disdain for Volstagg always a sore spot between them. Instead he sits down on one of the small benches at the rink, stretching out his leg. Thor kneels down with a smile, ignoring the whispers around them, and carefully fastens the skates to Loki’s boots. He makes sure the straps are tight, ensuring Loki’s safety, before he sits down and fastens his own skates. 

For several minutes they just sit there and watch the glistening snowflakes dancing in the air. For all the world they might be simply two close friends, when they are so much more. So dear to each other, so precious, that sometimes it takes Loki’s breath away, leaves him unable to find the words to express how he feels. He is blessed to love like this and be loved in return. Blessed that Thor found him all those years ago. He’s grateful for it, so very grateful, and he will not let society taint that love with their bigotry.

"Come!" Thor stands and offering his hand. He doesn’t let go when they are on the ice, as if he’s sensing Loki’s mood. They glide over the ice side by side, their hands clasped, weaving their way through the throng of other skaters.

It’s quiet and peaceful despite the laughing and chatter around them, a little world of their own. But quiet time is not all they are here for and Loki watches the people around them keenly, filing away little tidbits of knowledge that might prove useful some day. Like the Countess Kuznetsov suffering her husband’s stumbling next to her while she glances a little too often at a dashing young gentleman in a navy suit and matching coat; the Lady Selvig wearing the same dress and coat she wore last week; a young couple dancing and twirling over the ice without a single care.

"Dance with me," Loki exclaims, a thrill of excitement heating his cold cheeks. He skates in front of Thor, facing him, and clasps his free hand. 

"It seems I have no say in the matter," Thor laughs, his eyes crinkling with humor as he slides an arm around Loki’s waist, pulling him in. 

Their attempt at a waltz is neither elegant or true to form, an awkward shuffling at best, but Loki doesn’t care. He could not be any happier than here in Thor’s embrace, and even if he can’t kiss him to express his happiness he knows that Thor understands because he can see the same joy reflected in Thor’s eyes.

More people are now flocking onto the ice, hampering the sweeping motions of their dance. Just as he is about to feel irritated about it Loki spots a shock of red hair among the bystanders that immediately catches his interest. 

"I think I’m thirsty," Loki announces. "I’m afraid I’m not used to this much physical activity."

"Not used," Thor repeats, his voice a bit gruff. "Is that a complaint I’m hearing?" He’s steering towards the edge already, most likely not unhappy about Loki’s request. He’s always preferred wine over dance.

"I would not dare, my dear." Loki blinks slowly, squeezing Thor’s fingers in a familiar rhythm. While it is true that he is most satisfied with their physical—ah, activities, Thor always performs best with a little incentive. 

He leaves it to Thor to take care of their skates. It takes no time at all to find who he is looking for, that fiery mop of hair shining like a beacon in the sea of black and grey hats. Loki is pleased to find that it is indeed Freyr, in deep conversation with the lovely Lady Darcy. 

"Darcy!" Loki steps up to them and extends his hands. A genuine smile lightens up her pretty face when she recognizes him. She takes his hands and steps close, offering her cheek for a kiss Loki is happy to grant. He likes her, not only because she is spirited and fearless, but also because she is more interested in what is under Lady Jane’s skirts than inside Thor’s trousers. 

"You wicked thing," Loki tuts as a way of greeting. "How very rude of you to keep this gentleman to yourself." He gives Freyr his best smile. "Freyr, yes? Forgive me, I forgot your last name."

"Freyr will be just fine," Freyr smiles, ignoring Loki’s outstretched hand. He is friendly enough for it to be not considered rude, but it is hard to tell if he is just being amicable but not sophisticated enough to be aware of his affront, or if he is rude on purpose. Either way, it doesn’t make Loki’s plan to find out more about him easier. 

"Freyr, then," Loki smiles, tamping down on his irritation. "Have your made yourself at home the in our beautiful city? The last time we spoke you said you felt a bit lost."

"Lost?" Thor asks, joining them with two cups of mulled wine. He offers one to Loki, brushing his fingers against Loki’s. "We cannot have that. I am sure Loki would love to show you around the city. He was in quite the same situation but a few years ago."

"Thank you for such a generous offer, but there is no need. I feel quite at home now, thanks to Lady Darcy and a few friends." Freyr bows to Darcy, a winning smile lighting up his features that makes her blush. 

How interesting. Maybe there is even more to him than Loki thought.

"To good friends, then," Loki says, lift his cup for a toast. "And to very special friends. Everyone should have at least one of those."

****__

**Author's Note:**

> kotyono: kitten  
> miliy: darling
> 
> Loki's new coat looks something like [this](http://www.pinterest.com/pin/541839398889246625/) or [this](http://www.pinterest.com/pin/541839398889246640/)
> 
> Any and all feedback is much appreciated! For updates, snippets and whinings on my fics, feel free to add me on [tumblr](http://ohfreckle.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](http://twitter.com/ohfreckle)


End file.
